Past Perfect
by HonorH
Summary: Illyria wants its Key back. Buffy has some objections, as does Dawn's new boyfriend. Dawn's not too thrilled, either.
1. The Key Reclaimed

Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss Whedon and his cohorts, but never to the WB. WB sucks. I own some fabulous shoes, Rebecca Martin-Pryce, and all original portions of this fic. Please do not borrow without crediting me kthxby.  
  
Note: Takes place roughly four months after the events of "Not Fade Away." This is probably my most-researched fic, by the way. It's purely amazing what you can find about ancient gods and civilizations on the Web.  
  
Note II: Thanks to Gyrus and Selena for the betas, and thanks to Abe Zapruder for the information on All Things Italian. Without you guys, this plot bunny would never have gotten out of the hutch.  
  
Past Perfect By HonorH  
  
It gave Buffy a little more sympathy for Dawn, being on the opposite end of spending time with your sister's boyfriend. She recalled eleven- and twelve- year-old Dawn casting suspicious glances in Angel's direction and occasionally asking Very Embarrassing Questions. Fourteen-year-old Dawn had been much the same, only a little taller, and mature enough that she (somewhat reluctantly) actually started to like Riley. Then there was Spike and his relationship with Dawn, which covered all bases from the sweet to the nearly-homicidal.  
  
That being said, Buffy thought it was a whole new level of awkward to be playing hostess to your little sister's (very cute) boyfriend while said little sister and your nerdy apartment-crasher were dawdling about fetching groceries for a nice, home-cooked meal to impress said boyfriend.  
  
"So . . . you grew up in California, Connor?" Buffy asked, setting a cup of coffee in front of the boyfriend in question. He and Dawn had been going out for almost a month, starting practically from the second Connor had set foot in Italy.  
  
"Um, yeah. Well, not totally. I mean, I was born in Oregon, but Dad got a job in Los Angeles when I was nine," said Connor. He looked about as comfortable with the situation as Buffy felt.  
  
Awkward silence. Buffy cleared her throat and said, "So, Stanford. How's that working for you?"  
  
"Um, yeah." Connor took a quick sip of the coffee. "It's good, I guess. My dad wanted me to go to Notre Dame, but I got accepted at Stanford, so . . . yeah."  
  
They both nodded as if Connor had said something profound.  
  
"How--how long are you in Italy again?" asked Buffy before the silence stretched into eternity.  
  
"It's a semester abroad. I'm leaving a week before Christmas."  
  
"Right."  
  
They both sipped their coffee and prayed for Dawn to get back.  
  
---  
  
"She'll kill me, she'll kill me, she'll kill me . . ." Dawn chanted her mantra as she hurried back to the apartment, silently cursing her high- heeled sandals. "Connor's gotta be there by now, and my God, could the situation be any more awkward?"  
  
"Oh, don't worry," panted Andrew, barely keeping up. "She and Connor are probably having a nice chat."  
  
"The less I think about that, the happier I'll be," snapped Dawn. "I don't even want to know how Buffy the Vampire Slayer is interrogating my first actual boyfriend boyfriend. I'll just be happy if he isn't my first ex- boyfriend by the time we get back. What were you looking at for so long, anyway?"  
  
"I need new soap. The kind I've been using is making me all itchy, and I don't care for the smell. Maybe I'll have Giles send me some from England."  
  
Dawn threw him a dark glance. "Aren't you supposed to be headed back to England, like, any day now?"  
  
"Well, technically, I--"  
  
"Shh!"  
  
Andrew immediately stopped talking and slowed, looking in the same direction that Dawn was. Something was coming their way.  
  
In the mottled light from the street lamps, it was hard to tell exactly what the being looked like as it approached. It walked upright like a human, but there was something about the way it moved that was definitely . . . other.  
  
"This could be trouble," murmured Dawn.  
  
"I've got your back," said Andrew. Fortunately, thanks to Giles, that statement wasn't nearly as ridiculous as it would've been a year ago.  
  
It continued its purposeful approach. Dawn could now clearly see a shiny reddish leather suit that looked somehow organic and blue tints on the being's face and in its hair. It was staring fixedly at Dawn.  
  
Finally, it halted about four feet away from Dawn and Andrew. It--or she, for it looked something like a human woman--looked Andrew up and down briefly before returning its gaze to Dawn. Somehow, it managed to be strangely beautiful as well as alien.  
  
It tilted its head and said, "I will take the Key now."  
  
There weren't many words that could've panicked Dawn more than those.  
  
"No!" she screamed, and threw her bag of groceries at the demon.  
  
It batted the bag aside, and when Andrew tried to step between it and Dawn, it batted him aside just as easily. Andrew went flying across the street.  
  
Dawn turned and ran. She was no Slayer, and she'd been drilled enough by Buffy to know that when your instincts tell you to get the hell out of there, you run.  
  
She hadn't made it more than five steps when a strong hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her off her feet. Dawn kicked and screamed, trying to attract attention or get loose. She wasn't that far from home. If only she could get there, back to Buffy . . .  
  
A brick wall slammed into her back, knocking the wind out of her. Dawn found herself staring into the crystalline eyes of the demon.  
  
"You resist me," it said. "I did not anticipate this. It is of no significance. You are mine, the creation of my own power and energy, and I will have that power back." Its eyes dropped for a moment, almost softening. "There is much that needs to be undone."  
  
Before Dawn could even begin to comprehend what she'd been told, the being bashed her head back against the wall. All went dark. 


	2. Of Ancient Demons and Gods

A/N: In spite of it being played (beautifully, I might add) by Amy Acker, I could never think of Illyria as being female in anything but form. Therefore, I've chosen to refer to Illyria by the gender- (and species-) neutral pronoun "it." I hope it doesn't disturb you too badly. Any Knights Who Say "Ni!" should probably flee now.  
  
Note II: I'm also self-indulgently borrowing my own OFC. If you want to know more about Rebecca, read "Ties That Bind."  
  
---  
  
Buffy was fairly certain an Awkwardness Demon would manifest any second now. She and Connor had run completely out of small-talk subjects, and Buffy felt it was only a matter of time before her foot-swallowing instincts kicked in and made her blurt out something about sex or cheese or Slayers or, God help her, all three at once.  
  
So it was almost a relief when Andrew burst into the apartment, yelling, "A demon got Dawn!"  
  
"What?" asked Buffy.  
  
"What?" asked Connor.  
  
"Some Mystique-looking demon came up to us and said she wanted the Key, and I tried to protect Dawn, but the demon just whacked me aside," gasped Andrew. His clothes were dirty, and he had scrapes and bruises along the right side of his face. Belatedly, he realized Connor was there. "Oops. Um, we're just, uh, practicing our Dungeons & Dragons roles, and Buffy, maybe you could come outside for a sec? Thanks."  
  
"Where did it happen?" Buffy turned and looked at Connor, who'd asked the question right along with her. When his eyes met hers, Buffy realized something.  
  
"You know about this stuff," she said.  
  
Connor nodded once. "I might be able to track her scent if we can get to where she was taken."  
  
"Andrew, move," commanded Buffy. Andrew did as he was told, and Buffy and Connor followed him. "You a werewolf?" she asked Connor.  
  
"No. I'm . . . I've got some special abilities," he said. "Sharper senses, greater strength and speed, and it's hard to hurt me. What about you?"  
  
"I'm a Slayer," said Buffy. "Know what those are?"  
  
"Like Faith?" asked Connor.  
  
"You know Faith?"  
  
"I met her once. It was a few years ago. She wouldn't remember."  
  
Buffy doubted that, but only said, "Yeah, like Faith."  
  
It was only a couple of blocks to where Dawn had been taken. Groceries were scattered all over the street, making it evident where the fight had taken place. Connor's attention was drawn by something else, though.  
  
"Blood," he said, staring fixedly at a spot on the wall. Andrew's flashlight found the spot he was looking at. "It's Dawn's."  
  
"Can you tell what direction she was taken in?" asked Buffy tersely.  
  
Connor closed his eyes and tested the air. His eyes opened after a few seconds. "This way."  
  
Buffy followed Connor's lead. He set off at a brisk clip down the narrow, cobble-stoned streets, pausing occasionally to test the air. Andrew brought up the rear. Soon, their route took them downward, through ruins, and then into the catacombs under Rome.  
  
It was by no means the first time Buffy had hunted through these catacombs. They made, as Andrew put it, "a small Khazad-dum" that was the perfect underground city for all manner of vampires and demons.  
  
Which meant, naturally, that they couldn't get far without running into trouble. Connor halted suddenly. "Something's up there."  
  
A small knot of vampires emerged from the darkness. "I don't have time for this," muttered Buffy, pulling out a stake.  
  
"Guardate, ragazzi," said the lead vampire, a tall, curly-haired, young- looking male, "e pronto da cena!"  
  
"Mangiatevi questo," snapped the Slayer, barely breaking her stride to stake him. Dawn had picked up Italian more quickly than Buffy had, but after a year, Buffy was more than able to pun and quip in the native language of Roman vampires.  
  
Buffy engaged the second vampire, ducking a blow from his fist and snapping a quick kick to his gut. She staked him through the back and then instinctively tossed the stake to Connor, who'd downed the third vampire. He dusted it.  
  
"You're good," Buffy observed.  
  
"You, too," he said. He tossed the stake back to Buffy. "Dawn's scent is stronger here. We could be getting closer, or it could just be the still air."  
  
Andrew wheezed up behind them. "I think I'm going to have to rest a bit."  
  
Buffy deliberated a moment, then snatched his flashlight. "Go back to the apartment, Andrew. See if you can find out anything about the demon that took Dawn--by the way, what did it look like, just so I know what I'll be fighting?"  
  
"It looked like . . . well, sort of a bluish human woman," Andrew said, scratching his head. "She was a little taller than Dawn, and she was wearing leather."  
  
Connor's head suddenly snapped around. "Did she have blue streaks in her hair? Bright blue eyes?"  
  
"That's her!" said Andrew. "Wait--how'd you know?"  
  
"I think I've seen her," said Connor. "My parents took me to Wolfram & Hart to try and figure out why I've got, you know, superpowers, and I think I saw her there. What did they call her?" He bit his lip, thinking. "Illyria, I think. They said she was some kind of ancient demon."  
  
Buffy's mouth tightened. Word of Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles office's destruction had reached her almost four months ago. Since then, she hadn't heard anything about Angel or his friends. She tried not to dwell upon it-- Angel, after all, had been a very small part of her life for the past five years--but it formed a quiet disturbance at the back of her mind nonetheless.  
  
She made a decision. "Andrew, call Giles. You guys need to find out everything you possibly can about this Illyria, and see if the coven can track Dawn. If we can't find her, magic could be our only option." Andrew nodded and withdrew. Buffy and Connor pressed on, moving deeper into the catacombs.  
  
Suddenly, Connor stopped again. "I hear something!" he hissed.  
  
Buffy strained to listen over her own heartbeat. Then she heard it: a voice speaking in a rhythmic chant.  
  
She and Connor moved forward as quietly as they could, following the voice as it grew louder. Ahead, there was light. They rounded another corner and found their quarry.  
  
The demon had Dawn slung over its shoulder. It was facing a wall with strange runes carved into it, holding something that flashed in the light, and chanting. Then, as if something had alerted it to its hunters' presence, it whirled.  
  
It was strangely beautiful, this demon. Alien though it was, its form wasn't without grace. It cocked its head as if sizing up its pursuers.  
  
"Let her go," demanded Buffy. Her voice sounded loud in the confined space.  
  
"No," said the demon quite calmly. It turned back to the wall, thrusting out the shiny thing in its hand as it did so, and the wall liquefied. The demon stepped through it with Dawn.  
  
Buffy ran forward, as did Connor. Just before they reached the wall, it rippled and solidified again. Buffy skidded to a stop just before she hit it; Connor wasn't so lucky. He ran into it almost full-force and bounced off, landing hard.  
  
"Ow," he groaned.  
  
"Damn!" shouted Buffy, giving the wall a good pound with her fist.  
  
Connor hauled himself to his feet. "What now?"  
  
Buffy breathed out a sigh of pure frustration. "Now we head back to the apartment and put out an APB on Dawn and that thing. Is it what you saw at Wolfram & Hart?"  
  
"Definitely."  
  
"Good. We've at least got a name." Buffy looked the wall up and down. It was covered in writing etched deep into its surface. The centerpiece was a picture of a fearsome demon built like a twisted column. "Dawn's the real expert, but the markings on this wall don't look Latin or Greek to me. Wish there was some way to make a copy to send to the Watchers."  
  
"There is," said Connor. He pulled a slim digital camera out of his back pocket. "My mom's been bugging me for pictures of Dawn." He snapped several close-ups of different parts of the wall as well as a couple from further away. "Think that'll do it?"  
  
"It should. Let's get out of here."  
  
Again, Connor proved that he could keep up with Buffy with no apparent difficulty. They ran the full distance back to the apartment at a pace that would've made an Olympic distance runner succumb to despair. Buffy filed it away in her brain to contemplate after the crisis was over.  
  
Back at the apartment, Andrew was in full Watcher mode, with Buffy's computer open in front of him and the phone at his ear. ". . . and I understand that, but we're talking about a demon, not a landmass," he was saying. "Here's Buffy. I'm gonna put you on speaker phone, Beck." He hit a button on the phone and set the receiver down. "Did you see it?" he asked Buffy.  
  
"We did. We've got some pictures for you to upload, too." Buffy handed over Connor's camera, and Andrew plugged it into the scanner. The computer equipment was normally Dawn's domain, but at the moment it was Buffy who was feeling a wave of gratitude to the Watchers for giving it to them. "Who's on the phone?"  
  
"Rebecca. Giles is contacting Willow," answered Andrew.  
  
"Hello, Buffy," said a very British young woman's voice from the phone. Rebecca Martin-Pryce had the strange distinction of being the world's very first Watcher-Slayer combination. She'd been a Potential who had gone into Watcher training when she felt she'd gotten too old to be Called. When Caleb had blown up the Watchers' Council building, Rebecca had been just outside. Though badly injured, she had survived and spent months in the hospital before Willow's spell had significantly hastened her recovery.  
  
In spite of being a Slayer, though, Rebecca had decided to stay with the Watchers, as the world was suddenly in the unique position of having more Slayers than Watchers. She'd simply felt she could do more good there-- though she wasn't averse to hunting through London's underground with her English Slayer sisters a few times a week. Buffy and Faith, who'd had more than their share of clueless Council antics, liked having a Slayer as their liaison, so when either of them called the Watchers, nine times out of ten they talked to Rebecca.  
  
"What do we know, Beck?" asked Buffy  
  
"Not much, I'm afraid," said Rebecca. "As I was just explaining to Andrew, Illyria or Illyricum was an ancient civilization on the Balkan peninsula that appeared sometime during the late Bronze Age."  
  
"That's great, but I don't see how a geography lesson is gonna help us on this one," said Buffy.  
  
"It may not, but it is a starting point. Chances are that this demon would have some kind of connection with an ancient civilization that shares its name. Furthermore, some Illyrians were known to have migrated into Italy. It's possible that some places in Italy might have been centers of power for this demon."  
  
Buffy hesitated before asking her next question. Rebecca was Wesley Wyndam- Pryce's niece--or something like it; the Pryce family was a very complex one, and Buffy had tuned out long before Rebecca had finished explaining precisely how she and Wesley were related the first time the Slayers had met each other--and rather idol-worshiped her uncle. She'd proven to be sensitive about the fact that no one seemed to know whether he was alive or dead.  
  
"Um, Beck, you should know that this demon, whatever it is, was seen at Wolfram & Hart," said Buffy slowly. "I don't suppose--did Wesley ever mention anything to you?"  
  
There was a long pause on the phone. "The last communique I had from Uncle Wesley was in February. He didn't say anything about an ancient demon then- -I guess it's possible they found this Illyria later."  
  
Andrew interrupted the silence following Rebecca's statement. "Beck, I'm sending you the pictures Connor took of the door now. Let me know when you get them."  
  
"Thank you, Andrew. Buffy, you ought to know that Dawn put in a request for any information about the Key some time ago," said Rebecca.  
  
"Did you--did you find anything?" asked Buffy.  
  
"Precious little, I'm afraid. We looked into the Brotherhood of Dagon, however, and came up with some things of interest. Dagon was a god worshipped by the Philistines several thousand years ago--in point of fact, around the same time period in which the Illyrian civilization existed. Now, it's long been a theory among the Watchers that a number of ancient gods were actually powerful demons--perhaps even Old Ones."  
  
"I thought the Old Ones were out of style by the time humans took over," said Buffy.  
  
"Most of them did leave the dimension," Rebecca acknowledged. "However, even if they weren't physically present, the belief in them, the memory, could have been passed down through generations and led some ancient peoples to revere them--or at least fear their return." Rebecca paused. "Furthermore, it's entirely possible that Glorificus was an Old One. My cousin Courtland recently brought in some ancient demonic texts from Thailand--the Vargath Codex--and there are references to Glorificus as an Old One in them."  
  
"I'm not following this at all," said Connor.  
  
"Who's that?" asked Rebecca.  
  
"Connor, Dawn's boyfriend," answered Buffy. Her mind was reeling. "So, okay, let's follow your theory: Glory was an Old One. Dagon was an Old One. One of them had the Key, one of them wanted it. Where does Illyria come in again?"  
  
"I honestly can't say," said Rebecca. "However, if this Illyria is an ancient demon, she might have had contact with Old Ones and discovered the Key."  
  
"Which doesn't explain what she wants it for or where she is," said Buffy.  
  
Rebecca sighed audibly. "It doesn't, and it's all theory besides. I'm sorry. But I do have the pictures now, and the writing on the wall looks Indo-European to me, which would follow with the Illyrian hypothesis. I'll run it through our translation program and see what it comes up with."  
  
"You guys finally get the Universal Translator working?" asked Andrew.  
  
"Yes, finally, after a two-hour transatlantic conference call with Willow," said Rebecca.  
  
"Yeah, it was a toughie," said Willow from right behind Buffy.  
  
Buffy, Andrew, and Connor jumped and yelped in unison, whipping around to see Willow standing nonchalantly in the living room. The witch giggled. "Sorry. Couldn't resist pulling a funny."  
  
"God, Will!" gasped Buffy. "You could get yourself hurt doing stuff like that."  
  
"Where'd she come from?" asked Connor.  
  
"Oh, I just teleported in from Sao Paolo," said Willow. "Giles called me, and this one sounds like an emergency." Suddenly, she stopped, looking hard at Connor. "Do I know you?"  
  
Connor hesitated. "I--I don't think so."  
  
"Willow, this is Connor, Dawn's boyfriend," said Buffy. "Connor, this is Willow, one of my best friends and quite possibly the most powerful witch in the world. Will, what did you find out?"  
  
"Dawn's no longer in this dimension," said Willow in a businesslike tone. "The best chance of finding her is to find the demon's point of egress and see if we can follow it."  
  
"We watched it go through a wall . . . door . . . thing," said Connor.  
  
"Connor got pictures of it. Beck's working on translating the markings," added Buffy.  
  
"Could I see?" asked Willow. Andrew brought up the scanned pictures of the door, and Willow scrutinized them. "Hm. I hope there's a password buried in there somewhere."  
  
"Speak 'friend' and enter?" suggested Andrew.  
  
Willow grinned. "Would be convenient."  
  
"We've a partial translation now," said Rebecca's voice from the phone. "The writing at the top of the door says, 'Illyria, ancient and beloved, worshipped by the wise. Enter the temple of the god-king. Illyria, greatest of the ancients, shall return to this place. Worship Illyria, greatest of the Ones That Were.'"  
  
"Great," sighed Buffy. "Another god."  
  
"Guess I should've brought Olaf's hammer," said Willow.  
  
"What do we do now?" asked Connor.  
  
"I need to have a look at that portal," said Willow. "Depending on how she opened it, I might be able to pop it back open."  
  
Buffy nodded. "Andrew, stay here and find out anything else you can."  
  
"Aye-aye, captain," said Andrew.  
  
The Slayer's eyes flicked to her sister's boyfriend. "Connor, want to come along?"  
  
Connor nodded, looking determined. "I'm with you."  
  
"Good." Buffy walked over to her weapons chest and opened it. "Take your pick," she said, pulling out her favorite short sword, "and let's get going."  
  
---  
  
Translation for the Italian dialogue: VAMP: Look, guys--dinner's ready! BUFFY: Eat this. 


	3. Charn

A/N: Since I already included a character from "Ties That Bind," I'm continuing the timeline as well. It won't make much difference save for the fact that Dawn knows Wesley and Gunn. Just go with it.

---

The first thing that occurred to Dawn as she came back to consciousness was that she was cold. The second was that her head really hurt very badly.

The third was that she would never, never have a normal relationship if things like this didn't stop happening.

Where am I? she wondered groggily. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and lifted her aching head. And her first thought was, "Charn."

One of Dawn's favorite books was still _The Magician's Nephew_ from C.S. Lewis' _Chronicles of Narnia_. As she looked out at the landscape in front of her, she couldn't help thinking of the dead world Charn described in that book.

She was lying on a rounded stone platform with twisted columns made of dark metal or stone standing along the edges. Beyond the columns was a flat plain covered in reddish dust. A dry riverbed cut through it, and standing here and there were little protuberances that might have been ruins or natural formations. It was dry and cold and felt like nothing had grown there for a long, long time.

Dawn glanced up, and the Charn comparison grew even stronger. Whatever structure she was in had no roof, and she could see the large, red sun that hung sullenly in the sky, followed at a distance by a sallow moon. The sun gave neither much heat nor much light. ". . . a sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down upon the world," Dawn thought, the phrase from _The Magician's Nephew_ coming unbidden to her mind. Clad in only a linen sundress, she shivered.

It clicked in her mind that though there seemed to be enough wind to kick up a few half-hearted dust devils on the plain, Dawn didn't feel any breeze. Curious, she walked forward to the edge of the structure, between two pillars--and met resistance.

Magical shield, she thought, testing it with her hand. Should've expected that.

She turned to take a full survey of her surroundings and got a nasty shock. Lying about ten feet away from her, a faint glow about their bodies, were Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn. Dawn had spent some time with Angel's friends after Buffy's death, and she recognized both of them.

"Wesley?" she called softly. She went over to take a closer look. "Gunn?"

They were dead. Of that, Dawn had no doubt; she'd seen enough death to know what it looked like. Wesley's face was white, his lips bluish, and dried blood was visible where his jacket didn't cover him. Gunn looked like he'd been all but ripped apart--Dawn looked away quickly as she realized the shiny white things she could see in his torso area were bones and internal organs. She felt a stab of sorrow; she'd liked them both.

She pulled her eyes from the corpses and discovered she was at the edge of an impressive set of ruins. The stone platform she was on overlooked what had been either a small city or a large complex of buildings. It was hard to tell. Columns and walls and even whole chunks of rooms or buildings built out of dark stone stood half-buried in the red dust of the plain. It was both a sad and a foreboding sight.

A loud rustle startled Dawn. She whipped around, looking for what had caused it. Nothing presented itself. She swallowed hard, searching her dreary surroundings for any sign of life.

Suddenly, a squat creature with only a few scrawny tentacles for limbs scuttled out of the shadows cast by a ruined wall and threw itself at the platform. Dawn shrieked, jumping back into a defensive stance, but the creature bounced harmlessly off the invisible shield.

"They cannot harm you," said a cold, flat voice.

Dawn turned. The speaker was the demon that had captured her. It walked up the stairs to the platform and crossed through the magical shield with no apparent difficulty. Somehow, in the dusty reddish light of this world, it looked even more alien than it had in Rome.

"Who are you?" Dawn asked.

The demon seemed to ignore her, its unnaturally-blue eyes straying to the plain. "They were once a proud warrior race. Legion upon legion served me unconditionally, and the army they made cast fear into a thousand dimensions." The one that had tried to attack Dawn picked itself up off the ground, shook its stumpy body, and scuttled away. "They were scattered when I was defeated--chased out of Vahla Ha'nesh by my enemies. Now, after eons, they are mere shadows of their former selves, barely-conscious animals nearly starved out of existence on a dead world, devouring each other to survive." The demon turned its eyes to Dawn. "Do you not know me in my present form?"

"No," said Dawn.

The demon walked over to her. Dawn could almost feel the restrained power in its movements; in that way, it almost reminded her of Buffy.

"I am Illyria," it said. "I am your creator."

Somehow, it was just as shocking hearing it the second time. "You--you made the Key?" Dawn asked.

"I did."

More questions than she could ever ask filled Dawn's mind. She stared at Illyria, trying to decide if any part of her recognized this being. Its face was strangely familiar, as if Dawn had seen someone once who looked like it, but she felt no sensation of déjà vu. In a way, Dawn found that fact disappointing.

Illyria, in turn, stared back, examining Dawn with its eyes. Its expression gave nothing away. Dawn couldn't tell if it was satisfied with what it saw, if it disapproved--and she had no hint as to what it was going to do.

That was the question that finally won out. "Why did you come back for me--for the Key--after all this time?" Dawn asked.

"I am but recently reawakened," said Illyria, "and much weakened. I require the power I placed in you to carry out my aims."

"And those would be . . ?"

Illyria surveyed the platform. "This is Gog-Horgul, once the least of my temples. Now it is the only place left to me that still contains a remnant of my power and possesses the right conditions for me to regain that power." It turned, its eyes finding Wesley's corpse. "I will not be thwarted again."

"Did--did you kill Wesley and Gunn?"

"It was not my will that they die," said Illyria, sounding almost offended. "Wesley was . . . exceptional among humans. His death serves no purpose." Illyria's face softened as the demon approached Wesley's body and reached out one hand as if to touch him. "I told him a lie at the end. I told him he would be reunited with the one he loved, but she no longer exists." It pulled its hand back. "There is nothing for him in death. The warlock's house and what I could salvage of my sarcophagus gave me the means to preserve him and to transport us here. Now, I will bring him back, and Gunn as well. I found him unobjectionable, and he was Wesley's friend."

"What happened to them?" asked Dawn. "What happened to Angel? Did you have anything to do with it?"

Illyria turned to face Dawn again. "Yes. I did."

---

Four months earlier:

The cacophony of battle surrounded the small band of heroes as they faced down the Senior Partners' hordes. It was a hopeless fight; all they could do was try to inflict as much damage as possible upon their foes before dying themselves.

Illyria had been the greatest of warriors in its time. Though this body was no longer indestructible and its power had been decimated, it was still the equal of any of the demons it faced. Grief and fury added to its strength as it hacked its way through the demon horde.

They wouldn't last long, it knew. Angel was still fighting like he'd just started, the blood he'd taken from Hamilton quickening him beyond his own preternatural strength. Spike, however, was beginning to labor, though the fire in his eyes was as bright as it had been at the start. Gunn was nowhere to be seen. Illyria felt certain they'd lost him. Gradually, it lost sight of Angel and Spike and concentrated only on this opponent, then the next, then the next.

Some time later, Illyria became aware that they weren't fighting alone. A number of young human women had joined the battle, fighting the demons with greater strength and skill than seemed possible. Slayers, Illyria realized, and hoped none of them would mistake it for the enemy. There were too few of them, though, to save Angel and Spike. The vampires would still die.

A sound like thunder broke from above, and bright lights swept over the battlefield. Illyria spared a glance skyward.

Helicopters? Humans and their weaponry?

Illyria was so distracted by the visual non sequitur that a demon was able to knock it to the ground. Barely a second later, Illyria was almost grateful it had; machine gun fire swept through the massed demons.

"Cease fire!" barked an amplified human male voice. "There are humans down there! Repeat, cease fire!"

After that, the chaos became even more chaotic. Soldiers dropped out of the sky, wielding firearms and electric guns at close range. Illyria regained its feet only to find itself at the wrong end of a gun. Swiftly, it seized the gun's barrel and swept it upward, striking the female soldier holding the gun in the face.

"Sam!" yelled a nearby male, and Illyria made the decision then to run. These soldiers saw it as the enemy, and it would not be killed by humans. Not after this night.

As it sought an escape route, Illyria spotted Charles Gunn's body lying about ten feet away. It ducked through the battle, seized the body, and forced its way through the masses. A hole in the wall of the Hyperion was its exit point, and from there to the sewers.

Once in the sewers, Illyria set Gunn's body down and rested for a few moments, deciding on its next move. It had no idea if Angel and Spike were still alive, but their odds of surviving the night didn't look good.

A waste, it thought. Such a waste.

It looked down at Charles Gunn's mangled body and remembered Wesley, who was lying in Cyvus Vail's dining room. Grief overwhelmed it again, and an armored fist smashed into the sewer wall. Why did humans have to be so frail? Why couldn't Illyria, once a god, do anything to stop their deaths?

It calmed itself then, recalling how at one time, it had been able to restore life to its favored few. There had to be a way. Other humans had been restored; Fred's memories contained a fragment about Buffy Summers returning to life after being killed--how? How had the Slayer died, and how had she returned?

Illyria searched the memories further. The disordered thoughts of the barely-sane Fred from that time made the search difficult, but finally, there was a memory of a sad, red-haired girl speaking to Angel, a half-heard, barely-understood conversation about a demon god and Buffy's sacrifice for her sister the Key--

The Key. Illyria was thunderstruck. It still existed, then.

A small smile crossed its face. Yes, that would do. That would do excellently well, though it would take time and great effort. There was much to be done.

Tenderly, it picked up Charles Gunn's corpse and began making its way back to Vail's house.

---

"You worked with Angel?" Dawn asked, feeling a bit of hope. "The two of you fought the Senior Partners together?"

"I was his ally in that fight," acknowledged Illyria. "The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart will pay for what their minion did to Wesley." It turned, fixing Dawn with its eyes. "I will draw from you the power I placed in you at the beginning. With it, I will bring Wesley and Gunn back, and then I will use the remainder of the power of the Key to wreak such vengeance upon the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart as has never been heard of from the formation of the universe."

"And--and what exactly will happen to me?" asked Dawn, fearing the answer.

"Your physical form will be obliterated, of course. It is of no significance."

"It's of a lot of significance to me!"

"But not to me," said Illyria. "You are mine, and you will serve my needs. When the moon is aligned with the sun, conditions will be ripe for me to regain my power. Until then, I have preparations to make." It turned and walked away, back down to the ruined temple.

Dawn, stunned, watched Illyria walk off the platform. Finally, she regained her voice. "I'm not yours!" she shouted. "I'm myself. You can't use me like this!" She ran to the edge, where the magical shield stopped her, as Illyria disappeared into the ruins. "I'm myself!"

There was no reply. Dawn looked skyward, where the moon was drawing closer and closer to the sun.


	4. Uncovering the Past

Uncovering the Past

Willow was absolutely certain that Something Was Not Right with Connor. The moment she'd seen him at the Summers apartment, a powerful wave of déjà vu had hit her. She knew she'd seen him somewhere before.

Plus, of course, there was the residue of powerful spells about him. That was fairly hard to miss for a witch like Willow.

Those two things, added together with what he'd said about having some superhuman abilities, made Willow more than a little determined to find out his secrets. She didn't want to mention anything to Buffy right away--after all, when it came to Dawn, the Slayer was likely to brutalize first and ask questions later, and for all Willow knew, Connor might be totally innocent --but Willow was keeping an eye on him, both physically and magically, as they made their way down to the catacombs.

It was, she thought, a bit like those 3-D posters. If you looked _at_ them, you'd only see blobs of color and meaningless patterns. If you looked "through" them, on the other hand, the hidden shapes leaped out at you. Willow was doing that--trying to ignore the patterns imposed on Connor via magic and see through to the person underneath. It was an eerily familiar sensation, actually; she felt something very similar whenever Dawn was around.

And then, just before they entered the catacombs, Willow saw through.

She halted, staring, remembering the Hyperion, re-souling Angel--and meeting Angel's son.

"You're Connor," she said, stunned.

Both Buffy and Connor turned to look at her. Buffy gave Willow a puzzled look. Connor looked startled, and then worried.

"We met before--in the Hyperion," Willow said, addressing Connor. "Do you remember? Or is the spell making you forget, too?"

Connor looked like he wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming.

"Spell?" asked Buffy. "What spell?" She looked at Connor. "What's going on?"

"I-I remember," Connor finally said.

Willow concentrated on the spells. She saw a fissure, a crack that had somehow formed, allowing Connor access to true memories of the past. Somewhere in her sharp brain, things began to come together.

"You were given new memories," she murmured, thinking out loud. "I only got a little of the story, but your past--definitely with the bad. This took powerful magic, didn't it?"

"Willow, what are you talking about?" asked Buffy.

Connor shook his head. "Please . . . I don't want to be him anymore."

"Powerful magic," continued Willow, musing. "Like the kind Wolfram & Hart has access to. You were the price, weren't you? Angel joined Wolfram & Hart . . . to give his son a new life."

"Buh-huh?" inquired Buffy. She shook her head as if hoping she had something in her ear that would explain what she'd just heard. "Um, Willow, you wouldn't happen to have been drinking really heavily before you teleported here, would you?"

Willow was still looking at Connor, taking in the pain in his face. She felt bad; this had to be hard for him. In her experience, though, it was better to have the truth out than cover it up with magic. She addressed her friend, eyes still on Connor.

"Buffy, look at him. His face. Connor is Angel's son."

Buffy turned to look at her sister's boyfriend. Connor looked at her, wary, and Buffy examined his face.

"Oh, my God," she finally murmured, reaching up to touch Connor's cheekbone, so like his father's. "It's true. How? I mean, what's . . . how did . . . who's your mother?"

Connor's mouth tightened, and he sent a poisonous glance at Willow. "Darla," he said through gritted teeth.

"What?" Buffy snapped. "But she--Angel--this is--the hell? When? Did Angel know about this all these years?"

"I was only born about three years ago, technically," explained Connor exasperatedly. "Got raised in a demon dimension by . . . someone who hated Angel, and then--look, can we just find Dawn? This isn't my favorite subject."

"How do I even know whose side you're on?" asked Buffy.

"He's not evil, Buffy," said Willow. "At least, I don't think he is. Are you?"

"I'm not," insisted Connor. "Look, I was pretty messed up when Angel made his deal with Wolfram & Hart. He took over there in exchange for them giving me eighteen years' worth of happy memories with my family. That's who I want to be, okay? All I want from Dawn is--is Dawn. She's special. I care about her a lot. And I can help you get her away from that thing that took her. Okay?"

Buffy gave him a penetrating stare, and Willow knew Buffy was calling on her Slayer instincts to weigh whether or not she should trust Connor. Finally, the Slayer nodded briefly.

"Okay. Let's rescue Dawn," she said. "But afterward? You and I are having a long, long talk."

---

"I'll say one thing for you, Wesley," sighed Dawn, sitting forlornly against a pillar a few feet away from Gunn and Wesley's corpses. "You sure do have a way with the women."

She shivered, looking around the pavilion yet again. She hoped that one of these times, she'd see something she'd missed that would give her a chance to escape. There seemed little chance of that, though; aside from Wesley and Gunn's bodies and a little dust, the area inside the magical shield was empty. Considering how little dust there was, in fact, Dawn had surmised that the shield formed a roof somewhere overhead as well. That meant that even if she could have climbed the columns somehow, she'd still be locked in. What little magic she knew wasn't helping, either.

Even aside from all that, it wasn't like Dawn had anyplace to go. Outside the pavilion was a barren, hostile land with demonic inhabitants. And even if she could've fought all of them off, there was Illyria to be dealt with.

So it's "sit and wait to be rescued" time again, thought Dawn sardonically. Just like old times.

The sound of footsteps drew Dawn's attention back down to the temple. Illyria was climbing the stairs.

"I was afraid you'd forgotten about me," commented Dawn.

"Unlikely," said the demon god. "I must begin the process of creating a conduit between you and me in order to drain your energy."

That didn't sound like a great deal of fun to Dawn, but she was determined to keep Illyria talking. The more information she had, Dawn reasoned, the better the chances of survival became.

"You know, I've been thinking," said the teen, "that you're probably the only being that could tell me what I've been wondering ever since I was fourteen. Since I'm going to die anyway, I want to know--to know where I came from. Why I was created--why you created me."

Illyria cocked its head, considering. "I am not averse to granting a last request." It reached out for Dawn, who stepped back.

"Mind telling me before things get really painful?" Dawn requested.

"This will not hurt much," said Illyria. It snatched Dawn's arm to pull her closer and, in a flash, had pricked her chest right above the v-neck of her dress with something sharp. "I must take a little of your blood."

Always blood, thought Dawn. She looked down and saw that Illyria was collecting a few drops of blood in a small vial. In a few moments, Illyria apparently had what it needed; it released Dawn and capped the vial.

"So, where I came from?" asked Dawn, trying not to sound as shaky as she felt. Between the blow to her head and the fact that she hadn't had dinner, she knew she wasn't at her best.

"In the before-time, when your world was still young, and the gods walked the earth, and the moon sang a dirge for her lost love," began Illyria, "I rose to power. I grew to be an equal and a better to the kings and gods of this world, and I mourned for the loss of a challenge. My advisors suggested that we find new worlds to conquer, new dimensions to walk in. I could cross many dimensional barriers already, but there were some that thwarted me. It was then that I hit upon the idea of creating a Key to unlock all doors and lay all dimensions bare to my might.

"So it was that I took some of my own energy and placed it within the semblance of one of my warriors. I sent that shell to stand sentinel at Vahla Ha'nesh, the greatest of all my temples, where those that wished to treat with me would enter my presence. From every visitor, the Key-sentinel would take a small amount of energy, and in so doing, create within itself the ability to access the visitor's home dimension. Whenever I traveled, I would take the Key-sentinel as part of my entourage, and thereby create more and more facets to the Key.

"As time passed, the matrix of the Key changed, and it became truly living energy. It no longer needed to be exposed to different dimensions; it grew more powerful on its own. I saw this, and declared it to be as it should. The Key would soon cease to be a mere tool and become the greatest of weapons, able to access any dimension and tear down dimensional walls. I foresaw a day when the Key would be able to rend the very multiverse asunder, and the one who possessed it would have ultimate power.

"But others saw this as well, and coveted the Key for themselves."

"Like Glory," murmured Dawn. She'd sat back down as Illyria talked, wanting to conserve her strength as much as possible.

Illyria had apparently heard her. "Glory? Do you mean Glorificus of the Triumvirate?"

"That's the one."

The god-king made a disdainful noise. "A vainglorious fool, when I knew her."

"Trust me," said Dawn, "she didn't improve with age."

"She did covet the Key," Illyria continued, "along with her fellows. As did many others, including a young godling named Dagon." Dawn sat straight up, listening even closer. "A strange one, Dagon. He was fond of his pet humans . . . and fish. He seemed insignificant to me as I warred with Tir of the frozen lands and Dagda of Albion. It was my greatest folly to ignore him, for though his power was not great, he was cunning. Crafty. His scheme was eons in the making, but when it was over, a sorceress-priest of his--a human that I regarded as little more than an insect--had transformed the Key into the likeness of a human baby and walked with it past my temple guards on her way back to her own land."

I was a baby once, thought Dawn, reeling from the new information.

"The loss of the Key was my undoing. When it became known that my greatest weapon was lost to me, I was attacked on all sides, cast down, and interred in the Deeper Well while my temples were destroyed and my armies scattered. I do not know what happened to Dagon after that, or all that happened to the Key, save that you are now a young woman." Illyria ended its narrative. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Dagon hid me, I think," said Dawn. "There were monks--the Brotherhood of Dagon--and they kept the Key hidden. I don't know how long, exactly. I--it was just a ball of energy--I guess they changed it back from a baby--until about four or so years ago, when Glory started looking for it. The monks made it into me, changed everyone's memories, and I've been Dawn Summers ever since."

"And now you will be energy once more," said Illyria.

"No!" protested Dawn. "I'm alive now. I have a family, friends--even a boyfriend, for once! I'm not just your Key anymore."

Illyria stared at her in disbelief. "You would choose a human life over an existence as the most powerful weapon in any dimension?"

"In a second!"

It blinked. "This is not something I understand, but it does not matter. The choice is not yours to make. I am your creator; I will make all choices. You will be energy again, and I will use you in the way I have planned."

Wesley's glowing corpse provided Dawn a desperate hope.

"You're planning to bring them back to life?" Dawn asked, indicating Wesley and Gunn with a jerk of her head.

"I have said as much."

"Then you might want to know that death isn't that bad for humans. My sister died once--well, twice, but the first time didn't really count--and being brought back was worse than dying, for her. Wesley and Gunn were good men; their souls have gone somewhere good. If you really care about them, and I think you do, you'll let them rest."

Dawn's impassioned plea seemed to have some effect on Illyria. The demon god tilted its head as if considering her words.

Finally, it spoke. "No. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart are spiteful; they will harry Wesley and Gunn's souls into the afterlife. Even if it were not so, however, I plan to reverse time around their bodies. They will not be aware they have died if all is successful. No, I will continue with my plans. We will speak no longer."

Illyria walked away, and Dawn looked back up at the sky. Overhead, the dust had begun to swirl into a whirlwind, but in its eye, the moon continued on its slow, inevitable path toward the sun.

---

Buffy and Connor watched as Willow stood touching the wall Illyria had passed through. The witch's eyes were closed as she silently communicated with the magics that had opened the portal.

"What's taking so long?" Connor asked finally.

"Don't want to rush this," said Willow without opening her eyes or turning around. "We want to get wherever we're going in one piece."

"Too much longer, and Dawn won't be in once piece," Connor grumbled. He started pacing.

Buffy kept watching him, catching glimpses of his father as she did so. There was something so alike in the way they moved, in the set of the brows. She wondered what he'd gotten from Angel, and what he'd gotten from Darla, aside from his smaller build and blue eyes. Buffy hadn't seen much of the vampiress, and what she had seen had been in poor light or vamp-face. There was enough, though, that she could recognize just of his father in him. It was eerie and discomfiting, and brought home to Buffy yet again how worried she was about Angel.

"I think I've got something," Willow finally said. "I'm gonna try a little time flux, and hopefully, the door will think it's time to open. Hold onto your hats, and get ready to jump through if it works."

Connor and Buffy immediately brought their weapons up and stood behind Willow as the witch murmured softly in Latin. Her hand suddenly glowed white, and as she touched the door, it shimmered and became insubstantial.

"Go!" ordered Buffy, and the three charged through the portal.

The light abruptly changed, turning reddish and murky, and they were immediately up to their knees in dust.

"Glad I don't wear contacts," said Willow, rubbing at her eyes.

Buffy sneezed, then took a look around. The door they'd just passed through was, in this world, a black stone arch about eight feet high that looked like it had once had deep writing etched into its surface. What was left was badly worn, with only the occasional symbol still intact. Arcing away to its right and left were yet more portals at intervals of about twenty feet. They continued until they hit the horizon.

"Okay, so now that we're here--wherever here is--what direction do you think we should take?" the Slayer asked.

"I could try a magical trace on Dawn," offered Willow. "It might take a little while, but--"

"I think we should go that way," interrupted Connor, pointing.

Both Willow and Buffy looked where he was indicating. Far away, a vortex was forming between the dim sky and the plain. It didn't look like an ordinary dust devil.

"I'm thinking he's got the right of it," said Willow. She glanced up at the sky. "Uh-oh."

Buffy and Connor looked up as well. Overhead, the moon was almost touching the sun.

"An eclipse?" said Connor. "We've got a flashlight, so we can keep going even when it gets dark."

"It's not that," said Buffy. "I think Willow's getting the same feeling I am--that the eclipse and Dawn's kidnapping might have something to do with each other."

"Astronomical events often have an effect on the workings of magic," Willow explained. "I think we'd better hurry to get there before . . . before the eclipse."

Connor looked like he wanted to ask what exactly Willow had stopped herself from saying, but resisted in favor of moving forward.

They hadn't gone very far before they met their first resistance. A stumpy demon scuttled out of the billowing dust, waving its tentacles and screeching. Buffy met it, and a single stroke of her sword bisected the thing.

"That wasn't too bad," she commented.

More unearthly screeches echoed across the landscape, and suddenly, the dust was alive with the creatures. Connor and Buffy instinctively flanked Willow.

"Give me a few seconds to set up a shield," said Willow.

"Will do," grunted Buffy, slashing away several tentacles on another creature.

Connor swung his axe, cleaving deep into yet another. Two of its fellows instantly attacked it, tearing it to pieces. Buffy continued her sword work, driving the demons back.

Even so, one got past her guard, and that one jumped at Willow. The witch repelled it magically, but in doing so, lost her footing. Two more drove in toward her. Buffy kicked one away, and then literally stood over Willow, keeping the others at bay.

More and more creatures were materializing every second, more even than Connor and Buffy could fight off together. Willow's shield finally flickered to life, pushing the demons away.

"How long can you hold it?" Buffy asked, panting.

"I don't know," said Willow, gasping. "This world is so barren--there's hardly anything for me to draw energy from."

The demons kept pressing, attacking the shield, and one finally made it through. Buffy ran it through, but another was hot on its tail.

Just as Buffy and Connor went back to work, though, dark figures rushed through the dust, efficiently hacking and slashing away at the creatures, and within moments, the demon mob scattered, apparently deciding their interests were best served elsewhere. Buffy watched for a moment to make sure they were really gone--

--and turned to come face-to-face with Angel.


	5. Choices

A/N: Sorry about the delay on this chapter. I've been trying some original fiction and kind of got off the fanfic path for a bit. Promise to finish this one up soon, though.

Ack! Re-uploaded because of formatting issues. Think we got 'em worked out now.

* * *

Four months earlier:

Angel came to the conclusion that, on balance, things hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped.

He slumped against the wall, Spike a limp weight in his lap. The younger vampire seemed to have more wounded than un-wounded body parts. It was probably best that he was thoroughly unconscious. He'd been the only one of Angel's group that Angel had been able to find and take with him when he'd gotten out of the fight, and although the elder vampire thought that Illyria had at least a chance of surviving, he held out no hope for Gunn.

Dimly, the sound of gunfire reached Angel's ears, and he snorted with annoyance. If only Riley Finn had any clue as to just who he and his commando buddies had saved . . .

Then there were the Slayers who had joined them. Somehow, they'd known. One part of Angel's soul desperately wanted it to be because Buffy had heard somehow, had saved them, but another part knew she wasn't there. He couldn't explain exactly how he knew, but he did. He hadn't recognized any of the girls - the Slayers - who'd joined the fight. There were images of their faces - a tall, fierce redhead; an Asian girl with bright pink hair; a tiny Latina whom he'd barely kept from being killed - and he wondered if they all came from Los Angeles and the surrounding areas, and if their instincts had called them to the fight.

Maybe he'd find out later. For now, he was too exhausted to move, and Spike was in no condition to help. Angel wondered despairingly just how badly Spike was injured, and how long it would take him to recover. Wolfram & Hart didn't seem likely to let go of them easily.

Cautiously, he sniffed the air, wanting to discern more about where he was. That was when he smelled Gunn's blood. For a moment, wild hope surged through him, but it was quickly dashed. There was a distinct difference between fresh blood from a living creature and blood that had oozed from something already dead. This blood reeked of death. He wondered if Gunn had made it down this far and then died, or if Illyria had pulled him from the fight. It was no use trying to catch her scent, of course; she didn't have one.

Something suddenly moved in the darkness.

"Illyria?" Angel called as loudly as he dared.

"Not even close," said a familiar drawl. Lindsey McDonald emerged from the shadows. "Surprise."

For a moment, Angel thought that Lorne must have failed, and Lindsey was still alive. But there was nothing alive in the sewers, so far as Angel could tell.

Lindsey smiled, seeming to have followed his thoughts. He indicated the dark stains on his chest. "You probably think this is a good look for me, don't you, Angel?"

Angel realized what this was about. "Wolfram & Hart pulled in your contract, didn't they?"

"What, you think quitting has any meaning to them?" Lindsey snorted with disdain. "No, they left me alone because they had bigger fish to fry - and because they knew I wasn't ultimately going to escape them anyway. And actually, I was working on that when your buddy Wes did his tattoo-removal thing."

"Gee, I feel so bad for you. Especially since you were trying to kill me at the time," Angel shot back.

" 'Least I did it face-to-face instead of sending a lackey to gun you down after you'd done me a big favor."

"Don't take it so personally. It was a business decision, kind of like when you tried to kill Cordelia. You'd have happily betrayed me, Lindsey. With your power and ambition, you'd have been as big a threat to what I've been trying to achieve as any demon."

Lindsey shrugged lightly. "Yeah, probably," he acknowledged. "But then, I never claimed to be one of the good guys, did I, Angel? Never claimed to know much about - what's that word you're so fond of? Oh, yeah - redemption." Lindsey spared a quick glance at the unconscious Spike. "Guess that's good enough for you and your boy, and people like Faith, but not me. No, better kill Lindsey off before he goes and does any more bad things." He chuckled bitterly. "Didn't think it was possible, but you actually let me down, Angel. At the very least, I thought you'd do me in yourself."

Angel felt the barbs hit home. "Like you ever cared about redemption," he scoffed uncomfortably.

"And I'm sure it was all you were looking for ever since you were a little baby vampire," Lindsey said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Nah. You picked up a taste for it after you got the soul. Coincidentally, I've got one of those myself, and now it's in Wolfram & Hart's tender care." The former lawyer smirked. "But hey, at least I'm in good company."

The meaning behind those words took a minute to sink in. "Wait - you mean Wesley . . . Gunn . . ."

"Didn't think Wolfram & Hart would be so careless as to lose two such sterling employees, did you?" asked Lindsey, obviously enjoying Angel's fear.

Angel shook his head. "No. You're not telling the truth. We never signed -"

"You think Wolfram & Hart is really that stupid? Angel, Angel, Angel - their clauses have clauses! You and your crew sold yourselves to Wolfram & Hart a piece at a time. And now your buddies are reaping their rewards." Lindsey stooped down so that he was face-to-face with Angel. "Be happy for Fred that Illyria destroyed her soul. That's better than your other friends got."

One of Angel's hands shot out and grabbed Lindsey's throat. "You're lying," growled the vampire.

Lindsey just laughed. "Squeeze away. Doesn't make any difference to me. I'm dead, and you can't do any more damage than that. And for the record, I'm not lying. Just the bearer of bad news."

Angel let go of the corpse in front of him, dizzy with despair. All this, and his friends were trapped in a hell dimension - and Angel knew too much about those.

Lindsey was still watching him, a bitter smile upon his face. He leaned closer to the stricken vampire, so close that if he'd had breath, Angel would have felt it.

"Damn you, Angel," Lindsey whispered, caressing every syllable. "Damn you to hell."

And then he was gone.

Spike shifted in Angel's lap, moaning. Almost automatically, Angel placed a hand on the younger vampire's forehead in a soothing, paternal gesture.

"It's all right, Spike," he said softly. "We're safe. Just rest."

Spike muttered a few nonsense words in a pained tone, but soon relaxed again into an uneasy sleep. Angel envied him. He wanted to be asleep, for this all to have been a terrible dream. He wanted to awaken to his friends still alive, including Cordelia and Fred.

But now they were all dead, and he could trace every one of those deaths back to himself. Cordelia, at least, was in a better place, but Fred was gone completely, and Wesley and Gunn -

He had to find some way to free them. Even if he himself was the ransom, he swore he'd bring them back.

His sensitive ears picked up the sound of something else moving in the sewers. Larger than a rat, but not so large as a typical demon, he decided, and it had a distinct heartbeat, not to mention it smelled of human blood. Soon, he saw a small, slight figure moving through the shadows cautiously.

A flashlight beam suddenly hit his face. "It's you," said a girl's voice.

"Yeah, it's me," said Angel. "Mind shining that somewhere else?"

The beam, which came from what looked like a military-issue flashlight, left his face, and he could see the girl clearly. He recognized her as the little Latina Slayer he'd kept from being killed by a demon.

"Who you?" she asked brusquely.

"My name's Angel. This is Spike," the elder vampire said, indicating his inert progeny.

The girl came closer, and Angel quickly came to the conclusion that she was a child of the streets. Her hair was cut short and ragged around her face, her clothes were a few sizes too big and stained so badly Angel doubted even he would be able to discern their original color, and by the look and smell of her, she hadn't seen the inside of a shower in about as long as it had been since she'd had a decent meal. Still, scrawny and filthy as she was, she had the unique bearing of a Slayer about her. Angel guessed her age at thirteen or fourteen.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

She tilted her head at him as if considering whether to tell him. Finally, she said, "They call me Mikey." She looked at Spike. "He look dead, man."

"Well, technically, he is," said Angel.

Mikey took another hard look at him. "You be a vampire." Angel nodded. "But you save my life back there." Angel nodded again. Mikey scrunched up her face. "I don' get it."

Angel had to laugh a little at that. "It's complicated." He pointed up. "How is it up there?"

"Oh, shit, is _loco_, is - is crazy, man!" Mikey plopped down beside him. "One minute, I be with my _hombres_. Next, I think - I go and fight. I don' know why! But there these demons, an' I'm real good at fighting, so I fight, _comprende_? An' you save me, I don' know why, but now we got Army guys an' guns an' _mierda_, so I get out. What 'bout you?"

"I'm afraid this is all my fault," sighed Angel. "I made someone very angry at me."

"Must ha' been _el Diablo_ himself."

"Close. Very close."

Mikey looked Spike over again. "He don' look so good, even for a vampire."

"No, he doesn't," said Angel, reminded of yet another worry. "But I - I think he and I came out better than any of our other friends. Unless you've seen a kind of blue woman in leather?" All he got for that was a funny look. "I guess not."

The little Slayer reached out and tentatively touched Spike's hair, as if to see if it was real. Or, Angel thought, as stiff as it looked.

"What's your real name?" he asked the girl.

She looked shy for the first time. "Micaela Vasquez."

"Do you have parents? Anyone who looks after you?"

"No. I mean, my mama is dead, and I don' got no papa. I got a crew, though, and sometimes, when things get bad, I stay wit' Anne. She nice, for a white girl."

Angel couldn't help but smile at that. "I've met Anne. She is nice." He felt a pang of regret for the way he'd treated her years ago.

Spike moaned again, making a gurgling sound in his throat. He moved a little, and Angel gently restrained him. At least he was moving his legs, which meant he wasn't paralyzed again.

"Can I help?" asked Mikey, flinching at the agonized noises Spike was making.

"Not unless you know someone who can spare a few quarts of blood," said Angel.

"Oh! I know," said Mikey, hopping to her feet. "Sometimes, they throw bodies down here. Lemme see if I can getchoo a fresh one." Before Angel could even protest, she was off and running.

About a half-hour later, she came back with a large young man wearing gang colors slung around her shoulders, looking disconcertingly like a big-game hunter.

"He still warm," she said cheerfully. "Looks like somebody shoot 'im up." She unloaded the unfortunate at a nonplused Angel's feet. "Go ahead. I be around. I don' let anything get you."

Somewhat bewildered by the turn of events and the strange, small creature he'd discovered, Angel watched Mikey vanish into the shadows, leaving him alone with Spike and the corpse. The smell of fresh blood made Angel almost nauseous with hunger. Shame washed over him.

He pushed the shame aside. Distasteful as this was, it was nothing compared to much he'd done in the past year, and both he and Spike needed the blood to recover as fast as they could.

Angel picked up the man's wrist, slashed it open with his fangs, and then placed it across Spike's mouth. Within moments, Spike was instinctively sucking on it like a newborn.

Angel only hoped the younger vampire could forgive him later.

* * *

Less than a day later, Angel was able to move Spike further away from the Hyperion. Mikey followed, and followed again the next day, when Spike was strong enough to move with Angel's assistance. After three days, Spike was well enough that they could talk strategy. Angel told him what Lindsey had said.

Spike swore and took a drag on a cigarette that Mikey had provided. "Bloody wanker. Should've removed his gallbladder through his nose the first time I got suspicious of him."

"Not so concerned with killing the messenger - especially since he's dead - as I am about avoiding Wolfram & Hart and finding some way to help Wesley and Gunn," said Angel.

Spike took another drag. "Maybe it's time to call in the experts. Willow"

"No!" said Angel, a bit too sharply. "Bad idea. We don't want to lead Wolfram & Hart straight to the Slayers and the Watchers."

"Fine, then," said Spike, exhaling testily. "Why do you think they didn't just kill us, then? If Lindsey could find us, they could."

Angel shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe they wasted too much power on the apocalypse. Maybe they want to string things out. Maybe Lindsey was sent to lure us into another trap. Maybe -"

"- you don't have a clue what you're talking about. I get it." Spike took another drag. "Suppose the next question is where to go from here. Any genius ideas about that?"

"Get out of L.A., for one. For two, find someone who can either confirm or disprove what Lindsey said. There's an incarnation of the Three up near Seattle; might be a good place to start."

"And how do you propose to get all the way to Washington without being noticed?"

"Hop a train," put in Mikey, scarfing down cookies she'd gotten somewhere Angel didn't want to think about. "I got friends who done it."

"She's right," said Angel. "There are plenty of ways to get to Washington, but the point is, we have to get out of L.A. now. Otherwise, we're screwed."

"Probably screwed any way you look at it." Spike put out his cigarette. "Still, it's better than just sitting here."

"Glad you're here to cheer me up. Let's go look at some train schedules," said Angel. He and Spike started off.

And stopped abruptly as Mikey followed them. Noticing their looks, she said, "I go wit' you, okay?"

"Not okay, Mikey," said Angel. "We're going to be on the run from the same kinds of things we were fighting in the alley. It's best if you stay here, where you're safe."

"Safe?" Mikey laughed at that. "You seen L.A. lately, man? I'm safer wit' you."

"We need to travel light and fast, Puss," said Spike. He'd dubbed her "Puss in Boots" practically the first time he'd seen her. "We can't have the likes of you hanging on."

"I'm fast," protested Mikey. "I fight good. I know lots of stuff. I help you out."

Angel tried to reason with her. "Look, Mikey, I explained about Wolfram & Hart. They're going to be hunting us, and if they ever catch up with us again, we probably won't survive. You're best off if you don't get involved. Go stay with Anne. Have a chance at life."

Mikey looked at him very seriously with her dark, too-wise-for-her-age eyes. "You save my life. Even my _hombres_ woulda ran from those things. I help you back there." She jerked her head as if to indicate where she'd first met them. "I seen a lot of things, but I never seen no one give me a chance. I always have to fight, but you two fight better'n anyone I ever seen. So I wanna stay wit' you. We crew now, _comprende_?"

Before Angel could formulate a reply, Spike grabbed his coat sleeve. "You can argue all night if you want to, but the signs say you're not getting rid of her that easily," Spike muttered _sotto voce_. "Let's just go. She's a survivor; if things get too rough, she'll be gone. If not, never hurts to have a Slayer on your side."

Angel looked back at the girl and recognized the inborn stubbornness that had characterized the best women in his life. His resistance finally gave way. "Fine. You can come. But you do as we say, understand? If I say to run and hide, you run and hide. Got it?"

Mikey perked right up at that. "Got it, boss. _Vamonos, muchachos_!"

She walked ahead of them, and Spike turned back to Angel. "Now if only we can get her to take a bath . . ."

* * *

Dawn knelt nervously by Wesley's side, trying not to think about what she was about to do. She looked at his face. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been only fourteen and mourning her sister. To her surprise, she discovered he was very handsome. Even in death, his face had beautiful structure and character.

For a moment, she hesitated. If her death could restore Wesley and Gunn to life, and they truly were in a hell dimension . . .

She shook her head. If she could've done it herself, that was one thing. But to give a demon god huge amounts of power in the process? That was too high a price. There had to be another way to help Wesley and Gunn.

Dawn took a deep breath, set her resolve, and reached out to touch the shield around Wesley's body. To her surprise, her had went through. The field, then, wasn't meant to keep things out, but to preserve him. Her hand tingled as if it had gone to sleep, but she could still move it.

Good, then. If Wesley or Gunn had a weapon, she might be able to protect herself long enough to get past Illyria's deadlineand maybe get rescued. She looked up at the sky, where the moon had taken a slice out of the sun.

Buffy will be on her way, Dawn thought. She won't let anything distract her until she's found me.

* * *

". . . you expect me to tell you everything now?" shouted Angel.

"Everything? Try something! Anything at all!" Buffy shouted right back.

Willow sighed wearily. Three minutes worth of introductions and explanations, and Buffy and Angel were screaming at each other. Just like old times, she thought.

"Man, they fight worse'n Angel an' Spike!" said Mikey, impressed.

"You have no idea," said Willow.

"Were they ever . . . you know?" asked Connor, looking at Buffy and Angel askance.

" 'Fraid so."

Connor shook his head. "Whoa. This is getting weird."

". . . Cordy's dead, Wesley's dead, Spike's alive, you had a baby with Darla, and your SON is dating my sister! Excuse me for feeling a little out of the friggin' loop!" Buffy ranted on.

Angel was giving as good as he got. "I wasn't under the impression you wanted to be in the loop! No one would even talk to me from your side, and you sent that trained monkey of yours to grab Dana -"

"You can't seriously be blaming me for wanting to keep Wolfram & Hart away from my Slayers -"

"YOUR Slayers?"

"Yes, mine!" Buffy stopped walking altogether to stare down her former love. "I was the one who came up with the idea to empower them. They're my responsibility. What do you think I've been doing in Italy, shopping for shoes? I've been working hard!"

"Yeah, it looked like you were working real hard with the Immortal!" spat Angel.

It took less than a millisecond for him to realize his mistake.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "The Immortal? How did you know about that? Have you been spying on me?"

"Real smooth move, Gramps," said Spike.

Buffy wheeled on him. "Don't even start, Spike. I've got plenty of this for you, too, starting with why you never bothered to pick up a phone and call!"

"I was a ghost," Spike protested. Buffy reached over and thumped him hard on the forehead. "I got better," Spike added weakly.

Connor leaned over to Willow again. "Were they ever . . . you know?"

"It's a long and twisted story," said the witch.

Connor shook his head. "Excuse me!" he called over the moaning of the wind and the rising voices of the vampires and Buffy. "Do you think we could put off killing each other long enough to rescue Dawn? Thank you!"

Buffy and Angel shared one last glare, but forged on. "You have any idea what Illyria wants?" Buffy asked after a moment.

"We think she might be trying to raise Wesley and Gunn," Angel answered. "The Three told us Illyria had their bodies and that 'future will become past,' which sounds like she might be trying to reverse time."

"She could alter the flow of time when she had her full power," put in Spike. "But Wes stripped her of most of that 'cause she was gonna blow California off the map. Might've been better if she had."

Willow hurried up to them. Being the only one of the bunch without superhuman endurance, she was having a hard time. "Wait, wait," she panted. "She lost a lot of power, including the ability to alter the flow of time. Anyone seeing a connection with her wanting the Key?"

"What I'm thinking," said Buffy. "Do you know what Illyria's been doing all this time? Why she just now came for Dawn?"

"I wish I knew," said Angel wearily. "We've been trying to track her while dodging Wolfram & Hart, and she's been all over the world. Literally."

"Hasn't been the least bit easy," said Spike.

"Weird thing is that we've survived at all," said Angel. "It's almost like the Senior Partners aren't giving it all they've got."

"What's that mean?" asked Buffy.

"No idea. They're hitting us once in a while, but not with anything like what I know they're capable of," said Angel.

"Maybe it has something to do with you killing off the Circle of the Black Thorn," suggested Willow.

Angel didn't look convinced. "Maybe, but something feels off to me. It's like they're putting on a show."

"Pretty convincing one, if you ask me," said Spike. "My shoulder still hurts from the last attack."

"Maybe we can help you with your mystery," offered Buffy. "After we rescue Dawn, of course. Willow, what do you - you okay?"

Willow's eyes were aimed skyward. "Something's happening."

Through the swirling red dust, Buffy could see the moon cutting even further into the sun. "I think we'd better start running. Will, you think you can keep up?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't matterDawn needs you." Willow looked at her friend. "I can take care of myself."

Tersely, Buffy nodded, and then she took off running toward the whirlwind. Connor followed. Angel hesitated for only a moment.

"Mikey, stay with Willow," he ordered the young Slayer. Then he and Spike followed Buffy's lead, rapidly disappearing into the rising dust storm.

* * *

Dawn was sitting against one of the pillars on the sides of the pavilion, arms wrapped tightly around her body, when Illyria returned.

"It is time," said the demon god.

Dawn didn't move. "You know, you're the only one who could tell me what I originally waswhy I was created," she said. "Thank you for that."

Illyria seemed nonplused. "You are . . . welcome."

"But no matter how I started out, what I am now is my choice," continued Dawn. She unfolded her body from its seated position - and raised a gun and pointed it at Illyria. "And I'm not going to be used by you again."

They faced each other across the pavilion. Neither moved or spoke for a long moment.

Illyria broke the silence. "Why do you not shoot?"

"Because, like I said, you're the only one who's been able to tell me where I came from," answered Dawn. "That means something to me. You were their friend, too - Wesley's and Gunn's - and I won't kill you just for wanting to help them."

"Then why do you not let me?" asked Illyria. "Why stay in this mortal, limited form?"

"I want to live," said Dawn simply.

Illyria tilted its head. "Yet you claim the afterlife is desirable for humans. Your soul is human. Do you not want it to go there?"

"I'm not afraid of it," said Dawn. "But . . . I have a lot to live for. I have family and friends, and I even have a boyfriend who's - he's something special. I have a lot to look forward to in my life, and I want to live it, not die at eighteen!"

"The gun," said Illyria, as if truly noticing it for the first time. "Where did you get the gun?"

"Wesley. He had it on him."

The demon god looked confused. "Why did he not use it? He never missed his targets. He could easily have killed Vail with it; why did he not?"

Dawn was equally confused and had no idea what to say. After a moment, Illyria spoke again.

"He could have lived, had he used the gun. He should have known this." Illyria had almost stopped paying attention to Dawn altogether. "The only explanation can be that he could have lived - yet chose not to. I do not understand this. It is the nature of humans to fight to live. Why would he not?"

"Sometimes . . . sometimes people don't want to live," said Dawn, feeling she had to give some kind of answer. "Sometimes they feel like their lives are so bad it'd be better to die."

That brought Illyria's eyes back to Dawn. "He did not believe he had anything to live for. Yet how could he? I saw so much when I looked at him. Surely her death alone could not have caused him to despair of his own life. Or perhaps her death and the regaining of memories best left forgotten . . . he chose to die. I am at fault."

The light from the sun was very nearly gone, but the pavilion had a luminescence of its own. Dawn couldn't see where it came from, but she and Illyria stood in a pool of light as Illyria considered this new thought.

As the sun became no more than a sliver, the demon god looked up, resolute. "I will correct this, also."

Dawn had let her guard down during the conversation with Illyria. In a second, Illyria had lunged forward, batting the gun aside and seizing Dawn hard.

"Dawn!" cried Buffy's voice.

Both Illyria and Dawn turned sharply to see the Slayer charging up the steps to the pavilionto run full-force into the shield surrounding it. Buffy bounced off and nearly fell back down the stairs, but her Slayer reflexes saved her. She had her feet back under her in a moment. Connor suddenly appeared out of the dust, following Buffy's lead.

"Let her go!" Buffy shouted at Illyria.

"I will not," stated the demon god. It raised a hand, pulling Dawn even closer with the other.

"Illyria! No!" shouted another, very familiar, voice. Angel was at the top of the stairs, and he, too, ran into the shield. He nearly fell, but his fall was broken by Spike. Dawn was too stressed and frightened to even register shock at his appearance.

"Don't do this, Illyria," Spike pled, roughly pushing Angel away. "There has to be another way to save them."

Illyria hesitated only briefly. "Perhaps," it said, "but I am unwilling to take that risk."

It placed its hand on Dawn's chest, right where it had pricked her, and green light burst from both of them.


	6. Hope

Author's Note: This story, especially the end, has turned into my love letter to both series. I guess it's my way of saying goodbye - to the shows, not to fanfic. Don't panic. Or party. Whichever. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"NO!" screamed Buffy.

Mikey emerged from the swirling dust, practically dragging Willow along. Willow took one look at the situation and began to chant through labored breaths, trying to bring down the shield.

Inside the pavilion, Dawn and Illyria stood immobile. Illyria began to distort, its true form showing through the shell of Fred's body, as Dawn started to fade into energy. Outside, Buffy threw herself at the barrier, crying out her sister's name, and Angel watched in despair as Spike shouted at Illyria to stop, for God's sake, stop. Willow fought to control the energies of the dead world to break through to Dawn, but the sick desperation in her face said that she wasn't getting anywhere.

But then, Illyria's form suddenly stopped changing. Dawn grew more solid. And inside her mind, Dawn found a strange calm.

I am myself, she said in her own mind. She pulled her sense of self around her like a cloak, taking it back from Illyria.

You resist me, said Illyria, not aloud.

_I want to live!_

For what seemed like an eternity, they struggled. Illyria fought to regain control of the Key, but what it hadn't counted on was the Key not only becoming more powerful than itself, but gaining a sense of self and a mind of its own - a self and mind that now fought against Illyria with all its strength. And Illyria's power, weakened as it was, could not overcome that resistance. The realization was infinitely bitter.

I was god-king of the Primordeum, Illyria told Dawn. If I cannot reclaim my power, I can never again be as I was. If I can never again be as I was, what am I?

Despair flooded the link between them. It sparked the oddest of emotions in Dawn: compassion.

You become something else, said Dawn. You can change.

There was only silence from the link for a meaningless amount of time. Slowly, the image of a temple - larger than any human city, ancient beyond comprehension, and ruined beyond repair - took shape in Dawn's mind. Then Illyria spoke again.

I cannot change, my child. To become other than what I am is something I am unable to do. Since my resurrection, I have strived to understand your world, with the objective to somehow break it and put it under me again. Yet now, I understand only that that possibility is lost to me forever. Perhaps the ability to change is the true strength of humans, and the answer to why you have grown strong. As for myself, I am left with but one option. But perhaps there is a way to keep all from being lost.

There was a shift in the tide. Illyria's mind flowed into Dawn.

Images reeled through the link. Ancient beings taller than skyscrapers, warring so that their blood flowed like rivers over the chaotic earth. Insanely beautiful worlds filled with creatures that could tear humans apart with merely a look. Temples that made the Seven Wonders of the World look like child's toys.

A woman, her brown arms warm and dry as they clutched an infant girl tight, taking her across the sea to a fish-headed god. The sun breaking out after an endless night. A young boy in monk's robes smiling in wonder as he beheld the Key. The strange sensation of being clothed in flesh again.

Seeing Buffy's face and knowing family for the first time in her long existence.

Illyria's voice whispered to her again.

Do you understand, my child?

I think so. Do you?

Yes. I understand why you resist me - and why Wesley chose to die. I ask only one last thing.

Outside, the onlookers watched as a bright orb of energy detached itself from Dawn into Illyria's hand. Dawn dropped to the floor immediately as Illyria let her go.

"Dawn!" cried Connor.

Illyria backed up until it stood almost on top of Wesley and Gunn. "All is lost," it said. "I do not belong in your world - or any other. My time is spent. I will cling no longer to that which I cannot have."

The orb of energy glowed brighter and grew larger until it enveloped Illyria, Wesley, and Gunn. The air distorted around them, pulsating and crackling with power. Illyria threw its arms wide. Its leathery armor faded from its body, leaving a naked, blue-streaked female form with dead-white skin. A stream of something like dust shot out of its open mouth with a mournful cry, and flew upward and outward, joining the swirling, howling whirlwind.

Illyria's skin flushed pink just as Gunn gave a sudden cough and Wesley groaned. Then Illyria fell to lie beside them, its head at their feet. Outside, the dust began to settle, and the sun peeked out from behind the moon.

The observers stumbled forward as the shield dropped. Buffy took less than a second to regain her balance and ran to Dawn, Connor right behind her.

"_Dios_," whispered Mikey.

"Got that right," agreed Willow. She headed for Dawn while Spike and Angel made for their friends. Mikey, utterly stunned, tentatively followed Angel and Spike, keeping her distance.

Spike stopped at Illyria. He stared down at the body, then knelt and looked at its face.

"Angel," he said, sounding shocked, "I think this is Fred."

Angel looked up from where he was examining Gunn and Wesley. "What?"

"She's warm. She has a heartbeat. She smells like Fred. And - and she has a soul!" Spike looked at Angel, joy in his face. "Illyria must've reversed time for her, too." Quickly, he stripped out of his coat and gently tucked it around Fred's naked form.

Angel stared at him briefly, hope in his eyes, as he helped Gunn into a sitting position. The young man seemed dazed and disoriented (for which nobody could blame him), but otherwise whole.

"Mikey, would you help me out?" Angel asked. The young Slayer blinked, came over, and supported Gunn while Angel tended to Wesley.

Connor, meanwhile, had gathered Dawn into his arms. She was alive, but very cold, when Buffy touched her.

"Your jacket, Connor," said the Slayer.

Connor quickly stripped it off and put it around Dawn's shoulders. Buffy moved closer, wrapping her arms around both of them to give Dawn her own body heat.

As soon as Angel had seen that Wesley was recovering, he moved to Fred's side. He touched her face, and a smile grew on his.

"It's Fred," he said. "It's really Fred."

She moved feebly and opened her eyes. They focused on Angel's face.

"Angel?" she murmured. "What . . . what happened?" She raised her head just enough to look around at the pavilion. "Where am I? And why am I, um, naked?"

Angel laughed happily. "It's a long story. Fred - you can't imagine how glad we are to see you."

Fred craned her neck around to see who was supporting her. "Hey, Spike." She clutched his coat to her chest.

At that moment, Wesley opened his eyes. He looked around, obviously confused and badly disoriented. His eyes found Angel.

"Angel," he gasped.

"Easy, Wes," said Angel going back to his side and helping him sit up. "You've been through a lot."

"I-I was with Vail. I don't remember much," said Wesley. "Where are we?"

"One of Illyria's temples, I think. Wesley, you need to know -" But Angel was cut off mid-sentence as Wesley saw Fred.

"Illyria," he said, but he didn't sound sure.

Gunn was looking, too. He shook his head. "That ain't Illyria," he said, voice faint.

Fred struggled to sit up with Spike's help. "Wesley! Are you all right? What happened to him?" She asked the last question of Angel.

"Fred." Wesley said her name softly, as if afraid to break the spell. "Fred?"

"It's her, Wes," said Angel. "Illyria's gone. It's Fred."

Wesley pulled away from Angel, still shaking and unsteady. Fred met him halfway, still holding Spike's coat around her. Slowly, carefully, Wesley reached out, and his fingers brushed her face. He pressed his palm to her cheek, wonder warring with more emotions than anyone there could name in his face.

"You're warm," he breathed. "Fred - you're alive."

Fred's eyes found Gunn next, and the tears streaking his face told the story. "I died?" she asked wonderingly.

Wesley could wait no longer to pull her into his arms, holding her crushingly close as he sobbed into her shoulder.

"Oh, Wesley," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him.

Mikey grinned broadly from Gunn's side. "This is some cool shit, yo."

"Yeah," whispered Gunn, not bothering to wipe his tears away.

Buffy tore her eyes from the reunited lovers as Dawn stirred. "Dawnie?" she asked.

Dawn's eyes opened a slit. "Buffy?"

"It's okay, honey, you're safe," Buffy reassured her.

"I know." Her voice was faint and dreamy. "Um, could you tell Connor I'll be late for dinner?"

Connor laughed, as did Buffy and Willow. "Dawn, I'm here," he told her.

"Mm-hmm." Dawn closed her eyes again, and then re-opened them. "Connor?" She craned her neck.

He smiled at her. "I'm here. It's okay - I know about this stuff."

"He helped find you," said Buffy.

"Oh." Dawn looked at her boyfriend, and sighed. "I guess I don't have to explain, then."

"Actually, we really want to know what happened, Dawnie," said Willow.

"Hey, Will." Dawn smiled cheerfully and reached out to give the witch a hug. "Thanks for coming."

The reunion was interrupted by a sudden thunk. Buffy's head snapped around to see where Angel had just killed another of the squat demons via spearing it with his sword. It had scuttled up to the pavilion unnoticed. Somehow, in the reunion of friends, family, and lovers, they'd all but forgotten where they were. It came back with a rude shock.

"I think we'd better get out of here now," said the vampire. "We can sort all this out later."

Fred and Wesley reluctantly pulled apart, and Fred awkwardly managed to work the coat around so she could wear it.

"No way you can walk out there without shoes, love," said Spike, and he scooped her up into his arms.

"I can carry her," said Angel.

"No way. She's wearing my coat, so I get to carry her," shot back Spike. "Tough luck, grandsire. Help those two." He indicated Wesley and Gunn, who were both very unsteady on their feet. Mikey and Angel helped support them.

Connor followed Spike's example and picked up Dawn, who was still too weak to stand. Buffy went to the side of the pavilion and tried to get her bearings.

"Anybody have any clue what direction we came in?" she inquired.

"Glad you asked!" said Willow. "I've kept a magical trace on where we came from. It hardly takes any energy at all, and I thought it'd come in handy." She opened her palm to release a little ball of light. "Just follow the cute little light."

"I could've used you when we first came to Rome," said Buffy. "You wouldn't believe how many times Dawn and I managed to get lost the first week."

The light floated out of the pavilion, and Buffy led the group after it. Angel brought up the rear, keeping a careful eye out for any threats.

Fortunately, the return journey went smoothly, and perhaps a half-hour later, they stood at the gates.

"This one'll take us back to Rome," said Willow, nodding to where the light had come to a halt under one of the arches.

Spike looked down the line of gates. "We came in somewhere down there," he said, nodding off to the left. "Bugger if I know which one, though. 'Sides, we weren't too safe coming in."

"More of the Senior Partners' assassins," explained Angel.

"You should come through with us to Rome, then," said Buffy firmly. "I have the feeling it would be a bad idea to start trying out the other ones. Who knows where you could end up?"

"She's quite right, Angel," said Wesley. He and Gunn were more or less supporting each other, but they looked like they were getting stronger.

Angel looked hesitant, but nodded after a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, that's probably for the best."

Buffy turned to Willow. "How hard will it be to get back through?"

"Not hard at all, unless I'm seriously wrong." Willow reached out and passed a hand through the gate - and her hand disappeared. "Yep. It's meant to keep people and things out, not in." With that, she walked through. Buffy was next, then Connor and Dawn, and then the rest. Angel, again, brought up the rear, joining the others in the catacombs after they were all through.

"Feels good to be out of that dust," remarked Connor.

"Yeah, no kidding," said Buffy. "Okay, we need to get Fred some clothes, so why don't we all head to my apartment?"

"You guys go," said Angel. "Spike and I should leave."

That brought a whole chorus of "What?" "Why?" and "Angel!"

"I'm serious," said the elder vampire. "Look, Wes, Fred, Gunn - the Senior Partners think you're all dead. They're only after Spike and me. You guys can all start new lives without being hunted. Mikey, you should stay with them."

"Wrong," said Gunn.

"No," said Fred.

"We're not leaving," said Wesley.

"_Jogate_!" said Mikey.

"Listen, you all don't -" Angel began to argue, but Spike cut him off.

"Oh, for God's sake, Angel, you're not going to convince them, so don't waste our time trying. Besides, Fred is wearing my coat, and I'm not leaving without it. And I, for one, am too much of a gentleman to ask a lady to strip in public," said the younger vampire.

"Sure, now he is," muttered Buffy.

Dawn looked at her, alarmed. "TMI territory, Buff."

Buffy blushed and hastily gathered everyone up to go to her apartment. The trek from the catacombs to her home drew many funny looks from passers-by, what with Spike carrying a coat-clad Fred and Connor carrying Dawn, but as they'd all dealt with their share of embarrassing and unexplainable situations, it bothered none of them especially.

As Buffy opened the door, she was greeted by Andrew's voice.

". . . and I'm just saying that this whole kerfuffle wouldn't be happening if someone like Johnny Depp was playing Constantine instead of Keanu," Andrew was saying.

"Bosh! How would you like a British Batman or Superman?" snapped Rebecca's voice from the speakerphone. "Besides, much as I love Depp, considering what a mush _From Hell_ was, I doubt any Constantine fans would be mollified. I'm sure Alan Moore is in despair."

"Well, I think a British Superman would be just dandy, personally. Besides, Christian Bale's playing Batman," said Andrew. By this time, Buffy was far enough inside the apartment to see that Andrew was in the kitchen making something that smelled wonderful while he and Rebecca argued. When he turned around, he spotted Buffy. "Hey, Buffy's back!"

"Really? What's the word?" asked Rebecca.

"Everything's okay," said Buffy. Connor entered with Dawn and went over to gently lay her on the couch.

"Everything's fine, she says," Andrew told Rebecca. "Dawn's back . . . oh, hey, and here's Angel. And Sp - wait, not supposed to mention that. And Willow. And Fred. And your Uncle Wesley. And Gunn. And . . . a girl I've never seen before. Anybody else out there?"

"Just us kids," said Buffy. She brushed her hands through her hair, letting loose a small red dust cloud. "Tell Giles to call off the troops, Beck. We got Dawn back - with interest."

"Rebecca's on the phone?" Wesley asked, picking up on his niece's name.

"Uncle Wesley!" she cried. "We've been so worried about you! Where have you been?"

Buffy gave him a grin. "Why don't you pick up the phone? Sounds like this explanation could take a while."

"Speaking of explanations," said Angel, "I'd like to know what happened with Illyria, Dawn."

"Oh, boy," sighed Dawn. "This'll take a while, and I'm starving. What's that you're cooking, Andrew?"

"A nice, big pot of _bucatini all'amatriciana_. There should be plenty for our guests, too; I made enough for leftovers." Andrew lifted a huge colander of pasta over the sink to let it drain. "Almost ready! I managed to rescue our dessert, too, Dawnie. It's a bit smushed, but smushed lemon cream cake is still lemon cream cake."

Buffy turned to her guests. "All right. How about we get some clothes for Fred and some dinner, and then Dawn can tell us what happened?"

"My sweats might work for her," offered Dawn, dragging herself to her feet. "She's a little taller than me, but a lot skinnier."

"I'm not inclined to be picky right now," said Fred. She followed Dawn out of the living room.

"While we're here, we ought to stick Mikey under a shower," Spike pointed out.

"Good idea," agreed Angel.

"She's gettin' kind of ripe," added Spike.

"Hey!" said Mikey.

"I can fix her up with some of my sweats," said Buffy, who'd also noticed the aroma of the younger Slayer. "She's not that much shorter than me."

"I don' want no shower," protested Mikey.

"Here's a towel," said Buffy. "Bathroom's over there. You can use the soap and shampoo. I'll get you some clothes."

"I be wearing clothes," said the young Slayer, sulking.

"We'll be burning those," said Spike. "Shower, Puss."

Outnumbered, Mikey sullenly stomped off to the bathroom, muttering in Spanish.

Buffy watched until she'd disappeared behind the door, then turned to Angel. "Where'd you pick her up?"

"L.A. Kinda hard to explain, but she pretty much adopted us after I saved her life." Angel scratched his head, initiating an avalanche of dust from his hair. "She's a good kid. Been a lot of help. She never listens, though."

"Slayer trait," deadpanned Buffy.

Wesley hung up the phone and joined the others. "Rebecca has offered to wire me some money. I told her I'd get back to her after I figured out just what the hell is happening."

"Good luck with that," scoffed Spike.

Dawn and Fred re-entered, both of them clad in sweats. Andrew gallantly served them heaping helpings of pasta and sauce, and after Buffy, Connor, Gunn, and Wesley had also helped themselves, the questions started.

First up was Fred, asking about Illyria. The last thing she remembered was seeing the sarcophagus in the lab. Angel explained, in short form, how Illyria had taken over Fred's body, killing her in the process, and gave a brief rundown on its activities afterward. Then he suddenly paused, mid-sentence, and turned to Spike.

"I think I may have figured out why the Senior Partners have been holding back," said the elder vampire.

Spike looked from Angel to Fred, and back to Angel. "Illyria."

"Right. They were never too keen on it being free and out of their control, and if they couldn't track Illyria, my guess is that they hoped we could," said Angel.

"She - It did say something about wreaking serious vengeance on the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart once it got its power back," put in Dawn.

Spike chuckled bitterly. "Too bad Bluebird couldn't have done that without inconveniencing Dawn. Could've been funny."

Mikey exited the bathroom, hair wet, with a pair of Buffy's sweats positively hanging off her. She made a beeline for the kitchen, where she closely examined the plate of pasta Andrew had made up for her.

"Whazzat shit?" she asked.

"Next on the agenda: table manners," muttered Spike.

"_Bucatini all'amatriciana_," Andrew informed her stiffly. He was rather proud of his culinary skills.

"It's really good is what it is," said Gunn, coming back for a second helping. Mikey looked him up and down, decided he didn't look like he'd lie to her, and deigned to try a bite. The bite proved to be so good that she immediately set to shoveling it down her throat as fast as she could.

Buffy, who'd been watching her with some amusement, suddenly felt Angel's eyes on her face. He was watching the elder Slayer's expression carefully, as if trying to gauge her response to Mikey.

"So what happened next?" asked Fred, pressing against Wesley. "How'd you get out of Wolfram & Hart? Sounds like they're pretty angry with you."

Angel finished his overview of the last months at Wolfram & Hart. "After Spike was able to walk again, we went to see the Three. They gave us enough clues that we were able to track Illyria's globetrotting, but we weren't ever able to quite catch up. Not until we found an entrance to that temple."

"Guess that's about when it nabbed me," said Dawn. She accepted a slightly-mutated piece of lemon cream cake and a cup of strong coffee from Andrew.

"So what happened?" asked Connor. He was seated beside her on the couch, one arm protectively around her shoulders.

Dawn was silent a long moment, fiddling with her fork. "I - it's hard to explain. It made me." She looked at Connor. "Did Buffy tell you about me being the Key?"

Connor smiled. "Yeah. I've got your fourteen years of fake memories beat by four, by the way." Dawn blinked. "Long story. I'll tell you later and . . . I guess you can decide if I'm too freaky for you." He said it in a light, joking tone, but his eyes fell.

"Angel's his father," said Buffy bluntly.

"Huh? What?" Dawn sat upright, looking from Angel to Connor and back again. "How - when - who's his mother?"

"Could we get back to that later?" asked Angel.

"Seconded," said Willow. "I want to hear what happened with Illyria. Dawn, you said it made you?"

"Um, yeah," said Dawn. She explained what Illyria had told her about her origins. "And the thing is, it said that I - the Key - was made to get more powerful with time. I suppose I did. It couldn't control the energy in me anymore, and I-I guess that's what made it do what it did. I think I was its last hope of getting back what it'd lost." She sipped her coffee. "At the end, it asked me to give it enough of my energy to reverse time and bring back Wesley and Gunn. And somehow, I knew how to do it. I don't - it didn't seem to expect that the Key would ever become sentient." She shook her head. "I don't understand it all. I'm just making guesses here. Maybe it'll make more sense once I've had time to process."

"In that case, I suppose the next question is what to do now," said Wesley.

"I still think you guys -" began Angel.

Gunn cut him off. "Not happening, man."

Angel doggedly pressed on. "The Senior Partners are still coming after us. If I'm right and they were only keeping us alive so we could lead them to Illyria, what's to stop them from unleashing hell again the second they realize that it's no longer a factor? You guys have a chance to avoid all that; take it."

"And if they discover we're alive again?" asked Wesley. "If what Lindsey told you is correct - and I imagine it is - they'll notice a couple of souls missing from Hell. We're not safe, Angel, not any more than you are. Our best chance of survival is to stay together."

"Besides, I've still got their handy-dandy implant in my head," said Gunn, tapping his forehead. "Could be helpful."

"And I'm just not leaving, so don't try to make me," said Fred. "Wish I could write my parents, though."

"Hey, I might be able to help with that," said Willow. "I've got the best encryption program in this dimension, and probably a few others."

"Really? Show me." Fred pulled away from Wesley and went for the computer, where Willow met her.

Dawn and Connor started talking then, probably about his parentage, and Buffy caught Angel's eye and made a minute gesture toward the door with her head. He followed her into the hall.

"I'll tell Rebecca to send me the money, and I'll pass it on to you guys," said Buffy once he shut the door. "There's nothing unusual about the Watchers sending me money to cover my expenses, or another Slayer's, and it looks like you guys could use some new clothes, at least."

Angel nodded. "Good idea. Thanks."

There was an awkward pause. Finally, Buffy said, "You're expecting me to tell you to get Mikey to the Watchers, stat."

"Aren't you?"

Buffy shrugged. "If you want to, Faith's in Cleveland. She'd probably be best with someone like Mikey. But if not, well . . . you've got two souled vampires, an ex-Watcher, a guy who came off the streets himself, and a girl. There are worse places for her to be."

Angel examined her very carefully with his eyes. "You're not telling me to ditch her? Even after everything that's happened and us being number one on the Senior Partners' shit list?"

"It's not like she'd be any safer in Cleveland, Angel. Spreading out the Calling just evened the odds a bit. From what I've seen, you guys would be good for her." She looked back into his face, at the amazement there, and her voice softened. "It was never you I didn't trust. It was only the CEO of Wolfram & Hart."

"Same person," he insisted.

"Really?"

Angel's eyes dropped. "No. Not really." He drew in an unneeded breath. "And the worst thing is that I can't tell you that you were wrong. After everything that's happened, I know you weren't."

"At least now I know why you did it." Buffy glanced back at the door. "I like Connor. He and Dawn sure look cute together, don't they?"

Angel laughed. "Yeah. The irony's pretty thick, isn't it?"

"Noticed that myself. I just hope they're not an apocalypse waiting to happen." She grimaced at the thought.

"They're not." Angel sounded certain. "They'll be fine. You and I - we've sacrificed too much for them not to be."

Buffy smiled at him, and he reached out to take her in his arms. They kissed, a gesture that felt familiar and natural to them.

Angel pulled back as the kiss ended. "So, what about the Immortal?"

"I knew you'd get back to that!" She rolled her eyes. "Adam and I had some fun, and then one day, he got a phone call and said something about a stupid Boy Scout and having to go back to the States. I didn't get it, but there were no hard feelings." She looked down. "Thing is, he's older than dirt, but he's never gotten tired of living. He always manages to find something to make him want to go on. I needed that, at least for a little while."

"I get it," murmured Angel. He kissed her forehead.

"Your friends are pretty tired out," said Buffy. "Why don't you guys crash here and decide where to go tomorrow? Willow's probably already working on keeping you hidden."

"Yeah, they definitely need to rest." He released Buffy. "Thanks. I'll go tell them."

"Good. Send out Spike while you're at it, okay?" At the look on Angel's face, she said, "He and I need to talk, Angel. Please."

Angel disappeared through the door, visibly sulking, and a few moments later, Spike came out.

"You going to take a swing at me?" he asked without preamble.

"I'm considering it. Want to tell me why you're not a pile of ashes at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater?"

Spike sighed. "Long story involving a pretty-boy sorcerer who was obsessed with Angel and figured I'd be perfect to use in his complicated vengeance scheme or whatnot. Never did make a great deal of sense to me. I was a ghost for a little while, and then I got solid again after a month or so."

"And you didn't call me why?"

"It was my first thought," protested Spike. "When I first came back as a ghost, all I wanted to do was find you, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave L.A., and I wasn't about to ask Angel to dial the phone." He glanced downward. "But by the time I got solid, I'd had time to think about it."

Buffy swallowed hard. "And you thought it'd be better to just let me keep thinking you were gone? Why?"

Spike made an irritated gesture. "Well, how do you just call up someone and say, 'Hey, you know that big, self-sacrificial death thing? All better now!'"

"Like I wouldn't understand that!" She glared at him. "Try again, Spike. This time, make it real."

The vampire deflated a bit. "The truth is, by the time I was able to call you or see you, I'd had enough time that . . . I was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Yes." He looked away from her, a muscle working in his jaw. "I was afraid I'd hear your voice, or look into your eyes . . . and know I was right. What I said to you there at the last."

It all came together in Buffy's mind. "You said I didn't love you."

"Exactly." He chuckled a bit. "Long as I was away from you, I could think that maybe I'd been wrong - that maybe you did love me, in some way. And as stupid and cowardly as it sounds, I didn't want to have to give up the fantasy."

"Well, you were wrong," said Buffy. Spike's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "You were. I thought about it, too, thinking maybe you saw something I didn't, but after turning it over and over in my head, I really, really wanted to just hit you, because you were wrong." She looked into his eyes. "I told you the truth. I did love you, Spike. Maybe not in the way you'd hoped for, but I did. The things you taught me about myself, all that we went through together, the way we learned to forgive each other - I loved you for that. It wasn't just pity there at the end. I wanted you to know how I felt."

One of Spike's hands came up to cradle her face very gently. "You mean it, Summers?"

"Every word."

"And now?"

She sighed, taking his hand. "I don't know. I mourned you, Spike. I thought you were dead and gone for over a year. Now, suddenly, you're back, and we're both different." She smiled gently, taking the sting out of her words. "You still have a place in my heart. You always will."

"But now's not exactly a good time to try to rekindle," he said, acknowledging what they both knew. "Doesn't matter. I got more than I could've asked for, anyway."

A simple embrace said everything else.

Almost. "So," said Buffy as they pulled apart. "How long did it take you and Angel to beat the crap out of each other once you got solid again?"

"Couple of hours. I won, by the way."

"I won the rematch!" called Angel's voice through the door.

Buffy opened it. "Have you been listening?"

"No!" Angel looked sheepish. "I mean, not the whole time. I was talking to the others about when we'd leave, and I thought I'd catch you when you came back in, and I just heard that last part. Really."

"You two," Buffy huffed with disgust as she brushed by Angel and re-entered her apartment.

Willow was, as Buffy had expected, now working on a spell to hide the apartment and those inside it from the Senior Partners. Fred was brushing Mikey's hair and telling the young Slayer about her years of hiding in Pylea. Wesley sat next to them, watching in quiet wonder, as if reassuring himself that yes, Fred really was alive again.

And Angel and Spike were still at it. "What rematch?" demanded Spike.

"You know what I'm talking about," said Angel sourly.

"Oh," said Spike, realization dawning. "You mean, when you were a -"

"Say it, and I'll rip out your vocal cords."

Connor leaned over to Willow. "Were they ever . . . you know?"

"I've got a whole theory on that," said the witch enthusiastically.

"Please, do not tell us," begged Dawn. She yawned hugely. "I need to get some sleep."

"I should go, then." Connor got up and started getting into his jacket. "Dawn? Can I call you?"

"If you don't, I'll have the Watchers hunt you down," she said, smiling.

"Then I'd better." He leaned down and kissed his girlfriend's forehead. "Good night."

" 'Night," she murmured, practically asleep on the couch already.

Connor left the apartment, but before he was even halfway down the hall, Angel's voice called, "Connor!"

The young man turned. "What is it?"

Angel looked like he didn't even know what he'd been about to say. Finally, he said, "How are you?"

"Doing okay." He shrugged a bit. "Been a hell of a day, but I'm okay. I like Rome. And -" His eyes strayed back to the apartment he'd just left.

Angel smiled a bit. "She's a Summers woman. They don't come much better." He bit his lip. "Buffy and I - there were lots of reasons we couldn't make it work. I hope you and Dawn do better."

"Yeah." Connor's smile echoed his father's. "Yeah, me, too."

He turned to leave again, but after a few steps, he turned back to Angel. "I will thank you for what you did, you know. Not today - but someday, I will."

Angel swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'm not getting any older."

Connor tossed him one last grin. "Try not to get killed."

"Back at you."

Angel watched his son leave, and all was well.

* * *

Fred and Mikey ended up sharing Buffy's bed, Wesley slept on the floor next to them, Gunn slept on the guest room floor while Andrew took the bed, and Spike attempted to make himself comfortable on the couch. Angel didn't sleep, choosing to watch the Roman night outside, his face inscrutable. Willow had long since teleported back to Brazil.

Buffy, meanwhile, crawled in with Dawn. As she settled herself, facing her sister across the pillows, Dawn's eyes opened just a little.

"I remember now," said the teen, her voice dreamy. "I remember when I first saw you. Illyria let me remember some things from when I was the Key."

"Dawnie?" Buffy placed her hand over her sister's.

"I was in your bedroom. You walked in and asked what I was doing, and . . . you were my sister. I remember things before that, but they didn't happen when I was human. That was the moment. You were the first person I saw." Dawn's eyes opened fully. "Do you think maybe the monks were right? That the Key can be used for good?"

Buffy, eyes moist, reached over to touch Dawn's hair. "I think it already has been."

* * *

Bright sun, gelato, and her boyfriend by her side made the Spanish Steps even more perfect, in Dawn's estimation. It felt good to just relax and let the chaos of the past few days fade away.

Angel and his friends had left the previous evening after spending a day in the Summers apartment. They'd needed the time to recuperate, discuss what had happened, and decide what to do next. At Buffy's insistence, the Watchers had hurriedly created false identities and documentation for all of them, leaving them free to move about the world as needed. Once that documentation was in their hands, Angel and his friends had left, not saying where they were going. Buffy hadn't asked - she just let them go with her best wishes and a standing offer of assistance if they ever needed her.

Dawn thought it was the best solution. Angel hadn't wanted to involve Buffy or the Watchers any more than absolutely necessary, wanting to keep them under the Senior Partners' radar. Buffy had understood his concern and appreciated it. As she'd told him, she had a responsibility to the Slayers she was training.

Then there was Mikey. The girl had been wary of Buffy, instinctively understanding that it could have been Buffy's prerogative to take Mikey away from her new friends. Buffy, however, had shown no such inclination, particularly as the young Slayer had immediately taken to Gunn, and Fred had immediately taken to mothering Mikey. Wesley had looked oddly grateful for the chance to be a Watcher again. It looked like the girl was on her way to a very interesting life.

Now they were all gone, and Dawn was just as glad to have some time to process all that had happened - both to herself and to Connor.

"Do you think I'm a freak?" Connor asked. He sounded so vulnerable, and Dawn could understand that all too well.

She smiled at him. "If you are, it's no big. Some of my favorite people are freaks."

He smiled back. "It's been so weird ever since I got those memories back. It's like I've been two different people. One of them is Connor Riley, normal guy. The other . . . I don't even know how to describe it. He - I was so messed up. I didn't know what it meant to love, not really. I didn't understand how people . . . interacted. How they understood each other." He lowered his head. "I just knew how to fight."

"It wasn't your fault," Dawn assured him softly. "I mean, you grew up in a demon dimension with a guy who just wanted to use you to get back at Angel. How's that supposed to add up to being well-adjusted?"

"I just sometimes wonder if that's the real me," he told her. "If maybe it's just the spell that put this shell of a civilized, normal guy on me, and I'm really that animal inside."

"Hey, you're not the only one. When I was fourteen, I went through this whole thing about how I wasn't real; I was just, like you said, a shell made out of energy, and Dawn Summers didn't mean anything." She looked out at the Piazza di Spagna, letting its beauty sink deeply into her soul. "When Buffy died for me, I used to lie awake thinking that she didn't know what she was doing. I wasn't worth it because I wasn't supposed to exist. I saw the power of the Key, and it was terrible, and I wondered how I could be anything but evil."

Connor ran his hand through her hair. "Well, I was born so I could bring a mind-controlling, people-eating goddess into the world."

"I was created so a demon god could travel into every dimension and maybe rip apart the universe," said Dawn, one-upping him.

He laughed, pulling her close. "I guess we're both pretty freaky."

She snuggled against him, laughing a little, too. After a moment, she sobered. "I think I'd go crazy if I thought about it too much. I know where the fake memories start now; Illyria gave me that much, at least. I dream about things that happened to the Key, and I remember what's happened to Dawn." She looked at her boyfriend. "I know things that Illyria knew. It's like it wanted to leave part of itself with me, since I used to be a part of it. I think . . . I think that someday, I might be able to control the power I have."

"Makes you a pretty intimidating girlfriend," said Connor. His smile faded. "Y'know, I remember being a little boy and pretending I was a superhero." He shook his head. "It never happened. I never was that little boy. But I am the superhero now. I guess the thing I get from my father is that I want to use that somehow. Help people. Maybe with your Watchers or whatever."

"You want to know my philosophy?" Dawn asked.

"Dying to."

"I think we get to decide who we are. We've both got two pasts, and it's not all bad. We have a choice about what we'll be in the future, and that's the most important thing."

"We have a choice," murmured Connor. "Someone once told me I had a choice, but I didn't believe her. I didn't know how it could be true." He drew in a deep breath. "It was - it was my mother. Not my mom; my mother."

"Darla?"

"Yeah. She came back long enough to tell me I could choose who I wanted to be. I didn't understand then, but I do now. And I know you're right." He set his empty gelato cup aside. "My mother staked herself so I could be born. It wasn't something I really understood, not until I had the memories of growing up with my mom. I always knew my mom would die for me; Darla really did. Angel told me once, before he set off this big apocalypse, that I was the only thing she'd ever loved. And Angel went to work for Wolfram & Hart to give me a new life."

"There's a big whoa of emotional debt," said Dawn. "I know what it's like to have someone die for you."

"Yeah. I'm kinda mixed up about Angel. I understand why he did what he did, and I'm glad I got a second chance, but it's just . . . things were really bad between us before. Like, homicidal bad. But I can see now that we were both pretty messed up, and I feel like I owe it to him to - to try and understand."

"Well, things were pretty rough between Buffy and me for a while, too. Not homicidal, but she was just-out-of-the-grave messed up, and I was fifteen-with-extreme-issues messed up, and it was not a good mix." She swallowed, leaning against Connor. "I miss my mom all the time, too. I know now that I only had her for a few months, but I treasure all my memories of her. Even the ones I know aren't real."

"I know what you mean. I have all these memories that I know never happened, but they're good. They're good. And who's to say they didn't happen in some dimension, somehow?"

"No one can say," murmured Dawn. "I don't care what we were supposed to be, Connor; I'm just glad I'm here with you now."

He turned her face up to his with his fingers. "You are so beautiful," he said. "And you're the only person who can really understand the weirdness that is my life. How's that for perfect?"

She brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "It'd be more perfect if you'd kiss me."

So he did, and it was.

* * *

Final note: Thanks for reading! Plus, there's a Special Limited-Time Offer! On Sunday, April 3, there will be an epilogue to this story posted in my LiveJournal, which is linked in my profile. It won't ever go up on FFN, so head over to my LJ to see what happens a few years down the road. 


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